


One defends and the other conquers

by pr_scatterbrain



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Multi, Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/pseuds/pr_scatterbrain
Summary: It starts as a bruise.“You’ve had that for a while now,” Olli comments in the shower. “Maybe you should get that checked out?”In the heat and steam of the room, it’s hard to see what Olli is pointing out, but a couple of guys swing their heads around to look. Evgeni is closer than most. His eyes pick up the discoloured band of skin along Sidney's ribs. The burst capillaries staining his skin black, blue, and purple. Now that Olli has pointed it out, it does stand out against Sidney’s creamy skin.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Anna Kasterova/Evgeni Malkin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 157
Collections: Sid/Geno/Anna Exchange: Round 3





	One defends and the other conquers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saysthemagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saysthemagpie/gifts).



> To saysthemagpie - I’m such a huge fan of your writing. Thank you for your amazing prompts and your reassuring notes. I hope you like my take on soulbond and soulmarks.
> 
> Thank you Sid/Geno/Anna Mod! You did such a great job organising and running this exchange. I don't know what fandom would do without people like you who bring us together and enrich our entire community.

_“I hid my heart._ ”

John Koethe, from “A Long Lesson,” 

_The Late Wisconsin Spring_ (Princeton University Press, 1984) 

  
  
  
**December 2017**

It starts as a bruise. 

Evgeni doesn’t notice for the longest time. Weeks. Months. Longer, maybe. No one does. Not until Olli points it out. Even then, it’s not anything notable. They all get them. Midway through the season, Evgeni is nursing a couple of mystery ones of varying severity. If Anna wants, she can claim hers. Evgeni likes to think he is generous. The rest he blames on the Capitals. Maybe the Flyers. He can’t imagine it’s much different for Sidney. 

“You’ve had that for a while now,” Olli comments in the shower. 

“What?” Sidney asks.

Stepping over into Sidney’s space, Olli moves his arm. 

“That,” he says, his thumb pressing to the outside edge of the discoloured band of skin along his ribs. “Maybe you should get that checked out?” 

In the heat and steam of the room, it’s hard to see what Olli is pointing out, but a couple of guys swing their heads around to look. Evgeni is closer than most. His eyes pick up the burst capillaries staining Sidney’s skin black, blue, and purple. Now that Olli has pointed it out, it does stand out against Sidney’s creamy skin. 

Evgeni watches as Sidney raises a hand to feel for damage. He doesn’t wince, but Olli does in empathy. Not enough for any of the guys to take notice, but enough for Sidney to glance at him. Sidney doesn’t play favourites, but it’s Olli and it’s not a big deal to have one of the trainers check it out. 

The Penguins locker room isn’t quite the same this season. The space of those absent almost echos. Sidney’s doing a better job with the new faces than Evgeni, but then it’s not Evgeni’s job. He might have an A, but Sidney wears the C. More than anyone else, he binds the team together.

Killing time, Evgeni plays around with his phone. There are a handful of messages, but only one of interest. A photo from Anna of her in his bed. Her dark hair escaping from her braid, and her expression soft. His thumb lingers on the edge of the screen.

It feels different to go home, knowing she is waiting for him.

There is an itch under his skin; something that Evgeni can’t name in either Russian or English. Neither language has the words for it. Saving the photo to his phone, Evgeni then hearts it. 

Anna responds instantly.

_home soon?_

_soon_

As soon as Sidney is cleared. It’s not a long wait. 

Sidney doesn’t look surprised when he finds Evgeni still there. 

“They don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Sidney says before Evgeni can ask. “Maybe a bone bruise.”

It’s been a fast paced season. They’ve all taken hits. The roster has rotated through the IR list. 

It could be that. 

By Evgeni’s side, his fingers twitch. Sidney would probably let Evgeni close. It’s been years since he’d flinch whenever anyone tried to touch him. He still doesn’t like it, but in that time Evgeni knows he’s become one of a handful of people Sidney will allow close. 

This time last season, Evgeni would. 

This season it’s - different. 

“Lunch?” Sidney asks.

Evgeni shakes his head.

“Anna waiting?”

Evgeni can’t help but smile. 

Sidney shakes his head. “And you’re still here?”

Well. Put like that - 

  
  


It’s a trial. That is what Evgeni and Anna decided. One season to see if it works. Anna took an extended leave of absence from her ongoing role RTR TV, and took on a freelance position. It’s not what Evgeni wants, but it’s more than he could have honestly expected. 

“I’m not a romantic,” she reminds him more often than he would like. 

Maybe not, but he still likes to send her flowers. 

He would give her a ring if she’d let him. Though that it’s own hornets nest, and not one that Evgeni is quite ready to kick. 

America isn’t like Russia. 

They could marry here. In Pittsburgh there isn’t a difference between them and any other couple. 

He would marry her here. He’d marry her tomorrow. Today, even. He’d marry her in Russia too, but it’d be a civil marriage there. Times are more modern now, but the Orthodox Church is strict when it comes to mismatches. Perhaps something could be arranged. It’s not like Evgeni lacks money or influence. 

Evgeni doesn’t mind, but he knows Anna does. 

It's enough of a risk to her reputation to be living in Pittsburgh with him.

  
  


Summer is long since over, and the days are short. The days of sitting outside on the deck and eating dinner at dusk feel like a distant memory. 

In the first few weeks after the season began, Evgeni accepted every invitation. Intent on introducing Anna to everyone, he filled every free hour. There isn’t anything subtle about him as he tries to share every part of his home away from home with her. After years of long distance flirting and not-quite dating, it is startlingly wonderful to have her by his side. 

The shine quickly dimmed for Anna. Not that he blames her. 

Lunch with the Gonchar’s are different than chaotic team gatherings. 

At Sidney's annual team party, he catches her hiding away in the den with him. 

At some point she had swapped her beer for a soda. Perched on the desk, the perspiring glass bottle sat untouched by her side. Sidney stood close enough to look at photos she was showing him on her phone. But only just. Positioned just out of arm's reach, there would be no accidental brushing of hands or bumping of hips. 

It’s subtly done, but no one knows Sidney better than Evgeni.

It’s been a long time since Sidney was that careful with Evgeni. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, how Sidney is with strangers. Easier still when Anna never felt like a stranger to Evgeni, not even in the beginnings when he didn’t even know her name. 

“I was looking for you,” Evgeni says, knocking on the doorframe to gain their attention. 

“You found us,” Anna says, smiling as she looks up.

“Anna was showing me photos of your holiday in the Maldives,” Sidney says, stepping further away. 

Moving through space like they’re on the ice, Evgeni can already see the path Sidney will take. Stepping into it, Evgeni blocks Sidney’s exit and asks about his off season, like he hadn’t kept tabs on various Cole Harbour NHLer’s instagrams to keep track of Sidney. As a training partner Nate Mackinnon seemed to be perpetually red faced and sweaty, but he was the most reliable when it came to regular updates. 

In the corner of Evgeni’s eye, he watches Anna smile as she recognises the tactic.

It’s not fair, but Evgeni wants them to like each other. It feels important. He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t even know why he’s pushing it. Sidney is always going to be kind; he has always been nothing but welcoming to any of Evgeni’s previous partners.

This is different though. 

It’s easier with Kris; he and Pascal Dupuis just seemed to know. 

They exchange invitations after the team party. Dinners and drinks and their wives taking Anna under their wing. 

“Give Sid some space,” Kris says at one point. 

“Kris -” Pascal starts to say, but Kris stops him. 

“It’s different for him,” Kris says, blunt and cutting to the bone like always. “Don’t force it.”

(Sidney doesn’t have a soulmark. 

But everyone knows that.) 

  
  


People talk around soulmarks in the West. It is an awkward dance, though no less complicated than the one Evgeni grew up with. 

Anna’s mark is in a dead tongue. 

“I’m not your match,” she tells him years ago when he first managed to meet her at an event during his summer at home in Moscow. 

The bluntness of her tone allowed for no misinterpretation.

In the DM’s they had exchanged she had emerged as someone startlingly clever and astute. She hadn’t been awed by him. She wasn’t impressed by the trappings of wealth or the reach of his influences or whatever good connections he had at his fingertips. 

What time she did have for him was limited. Their conversations came and went, drifting away to silence over time. The pattern repeating each couple of months. If Evgeni was younger, perhaps he’d be phased. Or offended. Ego and embarrassment were never a good mix. Age had tempered him somewhat. Or at least enough. 

“I know,” he says, which is more oblique.

He does. 

When she looks at him, he isn’t exactly sure what she sees but it must have been something because she starts initiating contact, sending him the occasional message or text. Nothing is ever public. Nor is it overly familiar. If anyone asks, maybe she might name Evgeni a friend but it is just as likely she wouldn’t. Part of her career is knowing people.

In the summer they see each other at events. Then later, through mutual friends.

“Getting bored without hockey?” she asks when they meet at a dinner party in Moscow.

Her eyes are bright and Evgeni isn’t much good at hiding what he feels. He never has been. 

“I’m not bored,” he tells her. 

Bringing her elbows up to the table, she eyes him curiously. Between courses, the table is clear. Her mouth is stained from the wine and he likes her. It’s that simple, honestly. He likes her ambition and her honesty and the way she looks him in the eye. She’s made a life for herself, the shape of it carved with determination. It’s something Evgeni knows a little about. 

They talk about that sometimes. 

In Moscow, the future shines bright but the past carries long shadows. Few care to look at that truth directly. Though Evgeni has the trappings of wealth, the elephant in the room will always be there. He is a small town boy. He’s made his money while nearly everyone else at the dinner party inherited it. 

Anna knows; she knows just about everything. 

Once, he catches her looking at the black neoprene wrist guard he wears. It’s simple compared to her gold one. Underneath it is a latin phrase. Evgeni sees it years later. 

“I told you,” she reminds him. “You’re not my match.”

“The Church, then?” he teases, because he thought she knew him better than that. 

A look of indignation crosses her face. 

He can’t help but laugh. Both at her expression and the idea of Anna choosing to follow a path that led her anywhere other than where she wanted to be. 

Anna’s soulmark was never something she hid from Evgeni. 

“What is to hide?” she says, when Geno traces his fingers over the edge of the fine lettering when they are in bed together. 

The phrase curls its way across her wrist. It’s still personal even if it isn’t private. 

Soulmarks take all forms. 

Growing up in locker rooms, Evgeni’s seen infinite variety. Names and numbers. Symbols and signs. As a teenager he remembers rumours that Alexander Ovechkin had a wreath of laurel leaves around his neck. There are always rumours. That’s the problem. One of them anyway. 

When his scouting report ended up in Pittsburgh there were notes. The truth looks different in print. Different enough to Alex’s report that had landed hot on Ted Leonsis's desk. There were few secrets in the KHL. Not when Evgeni had graduated from the Metallurg Magnitogorsk hockey school.

It’s not like it matters, but still -

Even now Evgeni is careful. He tries to be careful. On the ice he wears a piece of KT tape. Off the ice he has a wrist guard. 

It’s easy to forget though.

The Penguins have a run of home games before flying out to play the Predators. It’s a rough game that they win in overtime. In years past, Sidney would join Shea Weber for dinner at his place whenever the Penguins were in Nashville. The Preds are a different team since Shea was traded, but Evgeni can’t say he misses facing Shea’s shot on the ice. Though instead of Shea’s shot, Evgeni had to deal with Roman Josi trying to throw him off the puck. Not that that stopped Evgeni. 

The locker room is loud after the final siren sounds. 

A win is a win is a win. They’re all good, but sometimes the hard won ones are the best. 

“We’re going out, right?” Zach Aston-Reese asks, looking at Jamie Oleksiak in the stall next to him. Jamie is shaking his head, but he's grinning. 

“Yeah, we’re going out,” Connor says from the other side of the room. 

Winning looks good on them. 

“G?” Jake asks. 

There is a look in his eyes that Evgeni recognises. Out of all of them, he’s one of Sidney’s rookies more than he’s one of Evgeni’s. It’s clever to ask Evgeni for what he wants. Indirect, but clever. Usually effective, but now PK Subban’s a Pred, win or lose, he almost always turns up outside the visitors locker room to take Sidney out for drinks.

“Got to call Anna,” Evgeni says. 

The locker room erupts. 

Evgeni crows. 

Why shouldn’t he? Who wouldn’t choose Anna when the alternative is buying rounds of drinks for his ungrateful teammates. He says as much and Patric punches him. 

“We are very grateful.”

Evgeni laughs. “Be grateful another night.” 

That sets them all off again. It’s infectious. 

When they stumble out of the lockerroom to the waiting team bus, Evgeni makes a detour to bump fists with PK.

“Good game,” PK laughs, good natured as always.

Sidney has friends across the league. PK has always been a good one. 

“Almost got one tonight,” PK adds. 

He’s smiling and it’s somehow the best joke. It’s all in his tone of voice. Evgeni doesn’t know how he does it. 

Evgeni might have missed the net, but Sidney managed to make up for it. 

He says as much and PK shakes his head. “Seems like he’s still making good on your behalf.”

If Sidney wants, he can always refuse to take questions from the press. He never does. 

“Captain’s duty.”

“Is that so.”

Around them there is a constant flow of movement. Evgeni glances at his watch and tries to work out the time zone differences. It’s late, but not too late. Anna will hopefully still be up.

“You going for dinner?” he asks absently. 

“Something like that.”

“Take care of my Captain,” Evgeni tells him, grinning. “Bring him home before curfew.”

PK shakes his head. “Going to run that past Sid?” 

That makes Evgeni laugh. 

“Going to run what past me?” Sidney asks as he appears.

Freshly showered, his damp hair is beginning to curl and his collar is damp. There is something so bright about him at that moment. Evgeni feels something inside him press against his heart. 

“Nope,” Evgeni tells him, popping the p. 

Sidney smiles, easy as anything. 

There was something comforting about how easy it always was with him. Even in the beginning, even when Evgeni hardly spoke a word of English; they always understood each other. 

As a child he had read about Sergei Fedorov’s spontaneous bond with Steve Yzerman and how ink bloomed as they shook hands, and their soulmarks settled under their skin. In the first few days, Evgeni remembers wondering perhaps maybe. 

It had been a secretive and furtive hope. Something that caught deep inside of him even after he thought he had long since stopped believing in such things. 

Nothing happened, but it’s still easy as breathing to make Sidney smile.

Sidney doesn’t have a soulmark. 

It’s something Evgeni knows because it’s common knowledge. At least it becomes common knowledge after the World Junior Championships in Helsinki when one of his teenage teammates says something to someone who says something to someone else. It’s locker room shit, but it's never quite locker room shit when it comes to Sidney. 

By the time Evgeni arrives in Pittsburgh, it’s stopped being something Sidney hides but they don’t exactly talk about it. 

In the early days it’s the insult of choice for any opponent on the ice. Off the ice, it’s a joke. Well, sometimes. Enough that in the beginning Sergei had to explain it to Evgeni. There isn’t really a name for it in Russia. Not a nice name, anyway. There are slurs. Evgeni grew up hearing them all the time. There are jokes too. Some carry over into American locker rooms. 

Jordan Staal - Jordy, with his huge hands and his head of pale golden hair smiles when he makes them. There isn’t much of a sting to it. Not when it’s delivered with one of his easy smiles. 

“Maybe they’re not born yet,” he says to Sidney when they all go out to clubs as a team. 

He’d know. 

He was born with his brother’s name along the line of his thigh. The ‘E’ of Eric a deep blue. Eric’s matching mark appeared the same day Jordan was born. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Sidney says, but he doesn’t quite look at Jordan when he says it.

“Or maybe you’ll meet someone and know,” Jordan says.

“A fan,” Max Talbot says without missing a beat. 

There is a shark-like expression to his face. He is a good guy, yes. But he is also a dick. 

“What’d think G?” Max asks. 

Evgeni shifts in his seat. 

“Need more drinks,” he decides.

  
  
When Evgeni gets on the Penguins team bus, he delivers that news. 

“Captain’s only dinner?” Kris asks. 

Kris vaguely likes PK, but only enough not to actively dislike him. He’s that way about most players who aren’t Penguins. 

“That’s what he said.”

Kris gets a look on his face. “I think that means us A’s need to step up.”

He says it within hearing distance of most the guys, which means that there is no escape. 

“You know what happens when you score the winning goal,” Patric adds, because he is a dick who knows exactly what he is doing. 

“No,” Evgeni says, but it’s too late. 

“First shot is free,” Kris reminds Evgeni. 

It’s the nail in the coffin. Kris knows that. 

“One drink,” Evgeni says, but it’s too late. 

Sidney is back in his room when they all return from the bar. A sliver of pale light is visible underneath his door. Olli knocks, drawn like a moth to a flame, but Kris pulls Evgeni forward. 

“Call your girl before she calls you,” he says. 

Evgeni is drunk and horny and it sounds like good advice. 

Anna sees right through his act when he calls her. 

“Do you think people wait around for you to notice them?” 

Evgeni presses his cock into the firm hotel mattress. “I worked hard for you to notice me.”

He had.

He likes working hard for her. 

She sighs a little when he tells her. “You think this is work?” 

“Good work,” he tells her. 

He misses her hands and her smile and - 

“Tell me,” she says. 

He does. In detail. 

  
  


Evgeni has always wanted more than most. 

A small town boy with a dream.

A teenager with an ego.

And now this. He isn’t Anna’s soulmate, but he loves her. 

  
  


It is a good thing, Evgeni’s brother tells him, when he is no longer a teenager but feels as stupid as a child for believing Metallurg would keep their promises to him. 

“You can go anywhere you want, anytime you want,” Denis says, but he isn’t looking at Evgeni. 

His hands are loose by his sides. Just under the cuff of his sleeve, the edge of a single fleur de lis is visible. The curve of it is familiar; as much a part of Denis as his steady confidence and quiet persistence. 

Evgeni wants to laugh. He isn’t going anywhere. The contract extension he had signed with Metallurg in the early hours of the morning had insured that. 

“Zhenya -” Denis starts to say. 

Shaking his head, Evgeni stops him. 

It is the first and last time they talk about it.

  
  


In the West everyone talks about soulmarks. Everyone has opinions, especially when it comes to Sidney who refuses to engage with it. Over the years he becomes increasingly steadfast. 

But then, no one is short of opinions when it comes to him. Or Evgeni. 

  
  


Back in Pittsburgh, Anna comes to the annual family practice. Together they skate around the rink, hand in hand. She’s a better skater than she claims to be, but he can’t convince her to stay on the ice for long. Pulled away by some of the kids who want to play a pick up game, he leaves her at the bench with production team recording the day. 

“Best view in the house,” he tells her, stealing a kiss. 

Her mouth is soft against his. 

“Going to watch me?” 

“Always,” she says, but the corner of her mouth is twitching. 

But when Evgeni turns back to her, he sees Sidney is laughing at something Anna is saying. Leaning against the side of the arena, he is turned towards her. He is focused utterly on her and Anna knows it. Pleased, she is using her hands to make a point, and whatever she says just makes Sidney shake his head in amusement. 

The other player’s partners have shifted away. 

Anna is good with people, but here in America she is out of her element. Her English is far better than Evgeni’s, but it’s not just about language. Evgeni learnt that the hard way. Yet as difficult as things where in the beginning, Sidney had a way of cutting through that. Even from the other side of the rink, Evgeni can see that somehow Sidney’s doing the same with Anna.

It’s typical Sidney; he always notices when someone is on the outer. 

It’s typical Anna too; charming Sidney so completely. 

“I like him,” Anna says afterwards, when they are driving home.

Glancing at her between changing lanes, Evgeni catches her gaze. 

“It’s what you want,” she says, rather than asks. 

Evgeni shrugs with one shoulder. Why deny it? 

“He’s different than I imagined,” she tells him. 

It’s a terrible thing to say, because now he wants to ask her what she had expected. He says as much, just to see how she reacts.

Anna does not disappoint. She never does. 

It feels a little like the beginning, where he would do anything to get her attention. Only now he has it. 

Leaning back in the passenger seat, Anna turns to look at him. Focusing on the road, he catches her only in his peripheral vision. 

“I thought he’d be shorter for one thing,” she says. 

“Is that so?” Evgeni asks, delighted.

“Among other things.”

  
  


“He knows, doesn’t he?” Anna asks when they are home. “About us.”

Evgeni - 

“He does,” he tells her. 

Because Sidney does. He’s one of the few who knows the truth abut Evgeni. Touching the black wrist guard, Evgeni doesn’t look away from her. 

Anna nods a little. “I thought as much.”

  
  


If there are names for people like Sidney, there are names for people like Anna. 

It’s different in America, but not by much. 

  
  


It’s challenging coming into an established team dynamic. Anna isn’t a high school girlfriend or college sweetheart who was there for the entire journey. She doesn’t know the ins and outs of the NHL or even the day to day in Pittsburgh. There are few familiar bonds between her and the other player’s partners and home calls. 

There have been a handful of freelance jobs with various Russian media outlets that she’s picked up. None that have taken her away from Evgeni for longer than a week or two. Each time she comes home, she’s always full of stories. 

“It’s hard,” Evgeni overhears her telling Sidney when they are having dinner with Patric and Malin. 

A handful of the team was invited. As people had peeled off into smaller groups to catch up away from the hustle and bustle of the arena, Sidney is with Anna. He is quiet as Anna talks, listening as she opens up. 

“I remember how hard it was for Geno - how it’s still hard,” Sidney says.

Still. 

Evgeni inhales. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Sidney noticed. 

Anna closes her eyes for a moment. He watches as her fingers find the hinge of her gold wrist bangle. Her nail presses into the joint, unclicking it. She had been defiant when she showed Evgeni her soulmark; all fire and strength. He had asked to know her - this was part of her. Did he want this part of her too -? 

Now though, she is brittle. For the first time in the time that Evgeni has known her, she looks small. 

“ _Munit haec et altera vincit_ ,” Sidney says, his voice quiet. 

“Do you understand what that means?” she asks. 

Sidney’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Yes.”

How could he of all people not understand?

Sidney hand twitches, as if wanting to touch her, but he doesn’t. He would never. 

“It’s Latin. ‘ _One defends and the other conquers_ ’,” Sidney translates as if by rote.

“You know it?”

"It's Nova Scotia's motto."

He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but then he visibly stops himself. 

Anna’s fingers curl into her palm and she brings her wrist close to her body. 

“Anna,” Sidney says softly. 

She shakes her head. “Now you know.”

Sidney’s always been one of the best people Evgeni knows. It’s different seeing the way he consciously makes an effort to bring Anna into the fold. To share so openly. And now to see this; the wordless comfort he offers as he shifts close to her. Close but not too close. Close enough to touch, if she wants but only if she wants.

One season. That is what Evgeni and Anna agreed upon. 

One season to see if they could make something real after years of not quite anything. 

Evgeni knows he was a fool to agree to it. One season was never going to be enough. Not for him. 

“What if she leaves?” he finds himself confiding to Sidney later that day. 

Sidney looks at his hands. 

“We can’t make decisions for other people,” he says after a beat. 

It’s a careful answer. 

“You like her, right?” 

Sidney glances at Evgeni. For a moment he is completely unreadable. 

“Yeah, I like her,” he tells Evgeni, but somehow it feels he’s saying something else. 

December is a shitshow, but in January the Penguins pick up two W’s and thanks to Evgeni, they stretch the hot streak out for a third and forth game. 

It’s enough to make him feel more confident than normal. 

He spends every moment he’s not with the team, with Anna. It’s heady. There will be away games, but it’s a long homestretch and he makes the most of it. 

It’s only when the Penguins head out on the road again, do the guys pull him up. 

“You’re not going back to the hotel room,” Patric tells Evgeni. 

“What? Why? No.”

Patric gives Evgeni a look.

It has been a while since Evgeni last spent time with his wingers. 

“Watch out, or Sid will steal us,” Phil says.

Sidney can try. 

But Sidney is just as absent. Again. It’s become a thing lately. 

“Captain’s privilege,” Olli says. 

It’s not an answer. 

He could ask Kris, but Evgeni knows better. It’s easier to wait Sidney out.

There are names for people like Evgeni too.

Cowards. 

At about half way through the night, Sidney turns up with a few of the Canes. After the guys shuffle around to make space, he ends up sitting next to Evgeni, nursing a half empty bottle of beer. 

Tonight is a better night than most. A few rounds of drinks in, and Sidney’s leaning a little into Evgeni’s space. His shift cuffs are rolled back to expose his forearms. They’re in North Carolina and no one knows who they are. Only a handful of people have tried to touch him; far less than whenever they are playing in Canada. 

The unmarked stretch of skin still catches eyes. Not everyone has a mark on their wrist, but most do. 

Over the years Sidney sheds any outwards appearances of care.

Evgeni still tapes over blank skin. Sidney doesn’t. In the locker rooms he will strip; the unmarked and unmarred stretch of skin over his shoulders and back bare to view. The pale skin of his thighs; the plane of his stomach; all a clean slate. 

Feeling drunk and stupid, Evgeni traces a line from Sidney’s wrist to elbow. 

Sidney inhales sharply.

“Soft,” Evgeni says. 

Sidney is very still under Evgeni’s fingertips. “I thought we weren’t doing this anymore.”

“Not doing anything.”

Sidney lets out a huff. It’s not quite a laugh, not quite anything. “Right.” 

There is something about Sidney’s tone of voice. 

Evgeni turns to look at him. He doesn’t take his hands off Sidney. Underneath his fingertips he can feel Sidney’s body practically vibrate. No one touches him. But Evgeni isn’t no one. He had never been. 

He opens his mouth. “Want me to stop?”

He wants Sidney to say it. 

That’s a mistake. But Evgeni’s made a lot of them over the years. 

“Fuck you,” Sidney says.

  
  
“Shit Sid,” Olli says the following day. 

Glancing over, Evgeni looks at Sidney for the first time since that stupid night. 

His ribs look like shit. The tiny quarter sized bruise has bloomed into something the size of a fist. 

“I think it’s getting worse,” Olli says. 

  
  


This time the trainers keep Sidney for close to an hour.

There is talk that he’ll be pulled from the next game. 

  
  


Kris buffer’s Sidney. The last of Sidney’s honorary guard of French Canadians on the Penguins, he is all the more fierce in the face of what he considers a threat. 

In America there is a vastness of colour and difference. In the Penguins locker room old superstitions hold sway. This is one of them.

“It’s nothing,” Evgeni overhears Sidney say. 

He stalks off. 

It’s different this season without Flower’s steadying presence. It’s been different for a while now. Things were never quite the same after Duper retired. Out of everyone, he was always about to corral Sidney. 

Without Flower and Duper, Kris and Sidney are an oddly matched pair. Kris in his sharpness and Sidney in his unflinching intensity. If they were on different teams, Evgeni thinks they would be career long rivals. Instead they are each other's closest confidants. 

If something is going on with Sidney, Kris will know. 

“You need to stop,” Kris tells Evgeni when he asks. “You’re not fucking him anymore. You’ve got a girlfriend now.”

It’s said bluntly.

  
  
People always seem to want to touch Sidney; reaching out to hug him or shake his hand or just to be close to him for a moment. As if the fact he had no soulmark meant he could be anyone’s soulmate. It was worse back in the first few seasons. Evgeni remembers the way Sidney used to fold inwards on himself, as if he could make himself disappear. It had made Evgeni all the more determined that no one would ever find out about him.

It’s not like there is a real chance of a spontaneous bond occurring, but it does happen. 

“I don’t care,” Sidney tells Evgeni after an especially gruelling charity event. 

He says it not like a secret but a confession; angry almost. 

Evgeni doesn’t understand. He says that. 

Sidney looks away.

It hurts. 

“Sid,” Evgeni says, breathing Sidney’s name into the silence. 

Sidney exhales slowly. As he does, his shoulders drop.

“What if I don’t want a soulmate?” 

Evgeni’s throat clicks. “What? Why? - Everyone want.” 

His voice comes out wrong. Almost strangled. 

Sidney pushes away from Evgeni. “Never mind. It’s stupid.” 

It’s the one thing that Evgeni never understood about Sidney. 

The Penguins play the Flyers in the first week of December. 

It’s a shit game. Evgeni isn’t on Sidney’s line. He isn’t sure if he is glad of that or not given Sidney spends most of his shift fighting for the puck against the boards. He manages to score a goal, but nothing about the game is civilised. Afterwards, he grins at Evgeni from his stall. 

He’s going to look like a wreck in a couple of hours. Ice will help but it’s not going to stop those bruises from blooming. 

“Worth it,” Sidney says, his eyes bright. 

Vividly alive, he is all Evgeni can look at. 

This time last season, Evgeni would probably take him home. He’d try too, at least. This season Anna is waiting outside for him. She touches the collar of his shirt when she sees him; fixing it. It’s an easy kind of intimacy. Evgeni’s breath catches though. 

“Good game,” she tells him. 

“No, it wasn’t,” he says with a grin. 

“Win cleanly next time,” she tells him. 

All Evgeni can do is try. He says that, but it doesn’t quite come out like he intended. Too low and serious. Her mouth twitches. Over his shoulder, players are streaming out of the locker room. It’s too busy to talk. 

“Home?” he asks. 

“Home,” she agrees. 

  
  
Around the same time, the ice melts between Evgeni and Sidney. It happens without Evgeni noticing and without him knowing what caused it or what resolved it. It’s as simple as Sidney finding his way back to Evgeni’s side during drills. 

His presence is easy and open. 

When Evgeni is feeling sure of the answer, he invites Sidney over for lunch. 

It goes well enough that the following week he invites Sidney over for dinner. He is awkward around Anna. It is unexpected and unexplainable.

It throws them all off, but mostly Evgeni. Things between the three of them are always easy. 

“You are trying too hard,” Anna tells Evgeni when he helps her serve their meal.

He probably is. Food helps. So does wine. 

Anna is a better conversationalist than either of them. With care she draws Sidney out; plying him with questions and sharing new stories from her latest piece she produced for RTR TV. Slowly the Sidney they know returns. By the time they are finished eating, he is smiling at their jokes and arguing with Evgeni about something that does not matter in the slightest. 

Afterwards, in the darkness of January, Sidney washes the dishes. His hands are soapy and it’s simple for Evgeni to stand next to him and dry each dish.

There is a dishwasher, but neither one of them point it out. Instead it’s a gentle act of two. 

Something in Evgeni’s throat clicks when he tries to breathe. He doesn’t know what. 

Sidney’s hands are soapy. His shirt sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms. 

Anna is making tea and Evgeni’s heart feels so full. 

Later, it feels like something tears when Sidney goes home. 

“You love him,” Anna says simply. 

Evgeni can’t deny it. It feels horrible to say. Like all of those things people said about people like him are true. That he can’t love anyone properly with a heart that never had a name promised to it. 

“No, no,” Anna says, gathering him close. “Not that.”

Evgeni loves endlessly and loyally. Never in the right way, but always true.

He doesn’t need a mark to know what he feels for Anna is real. 

Why has he kept waiting for one with Sidney? 

Evgeni goes over to Sidney’s home. It’s early. 

Sidney isn’t ready to leave for practice. When Evgeni appears, he is on the phone with his agent, Pat. Waving Evgeni inside, Sidney looks vaguely apologetic. 

Leaving him to it, Evgeni goes to the kitchen. There are usually leftovers from Sidney’s pre-packaged meals. They’re never particularly interesting, but they are reliable. 

It's strange to find a pile of old cards on the kitchen island. They’re vaguely familiar, but Evgeni can’t pinpoint why until he flips one open. His own handwriting jumps out at him. He didn’t know Sidney saved these. 

“Sentimental?” Evgeni asks, when Sidney gets off the phone. 

Sidney flushes. 

“Something like that,” he says, but he doesn’t meet Evgeni’s gaze. 

The bruise hasn't gone away. 

The Penguins end up running a battery of tests on Sidney. 

For a while, there are worries about blood clots. It’s near his chest, so it’s a real concern. But there are no conclusive reports. Nothing at all seems to come up. But at some point the bruise begins to settle. 

It doesn’t look nearly as painful when Evgeni next sees it, though Sidney is less forthright. Often covering it with crossed arms or a towel thrown over his shoulders. One or twice with KT tape.

It’s only when Evgeni catches him in the shower does he see. 

“A mark,” he finds himself saying softly. 

Sidney looks caught out. Panicking, he tries to cover it. But Evgeni saw - he saw. Such a simple mark. Just a few letters. 

_Anna_

But written in Evgeni’s handwriting. 

In an instant, everything falls into place and Evgeni doesn’t know why he didn't understand until now. Why Sidney pulled away, Anna's mark - _One defends and the other conquers -_ everything. 

“Sid,” he says, his voice soft. 

“I never wanted it,” Sidney says, his voice wrecked. 

“No,” Evgeni says, because he knows Sidney. He knows him and his stupidly huge heart. “You just wanted us.”

It ruins Sidney. He can’t answer.

“Let me take you home,” Evgeni says. Asks. Pleads. 

What he really means to say, is let me love you. 

English is such an imprecise language. That is why there are soulmarks, Evgeni supposes. To say what would otherwise remain unsaid. 

"Sid," Evgeni says. "Please."

Something in his voice breaks. 

Sidney - 

"Alright," Sidney says. 

One seasons. That's what Anna promised Evgeni. Twelve seasons and counting is what Evgeni and Sidney have shared so far. 

A lifetime is what Evgeni will promise in return. 

.


End file.
